A/N: Here's a random piece of trivia about me for you: I love reading SanSan fics before I fall asleep. I can't help it. I've fallen in love with this specific one and it frustrates me that it hasn't been updated. So….sorry about the lack of update here. On the plus side, I finally finished editing the first half of my book so I'm one step closer to being an actual author.

Now, on faithful readers! Onward! And let me know what you think (NICELY).

Chapter 20: You Win or You Die

The fire licked the stones surrounding it; its heat negated by the chill of everyone's stares on his back. Normally, Sandor stayed far away from any kind of fire but he preferred the flames to Sansa's family and their incessant questions. He wasn't close to the hearth as other people would have been – something Arya noticed with a villainous smirk – but it was still too close for him to relax.

They had been pestering him with questions near an hour and he hadn't answered a single one yet. How could he while Catelyn Stark screeched about the Hound's infamous loyalty to the Lannisters and her precious Sansa and then hugging Arya between sentences? The mother was clearly torn about having only one of her daughters safely back and she made no effort to hear Sandor's side of things.

'Surprise,' Sandor thought drolly. To the high and mighty Catelyn Stark, he would never be good enough to eat with, much less share in a future with as Sansa's husband. Startled at his own thoughts, Sandor stood and stretched to his full height. He knew damn well how intimidating he looked and reveled in their cowering state. "Do you ever shut up?" he snapped to the older woman.

"How dare you!" she gasped.

Sandor's eyes hardened into a scathing glare as he inched toward her. "I dare because I am the one brought you one of your daughters back," he hissed. "Something you, with all your highborn status, couldn't do. It took a lowly dog to find your precious wolf bitch of a daughter. I could have raped her, slit her throat and then been on my way."

"Then why didn't you?" Robb challenged haughtily.

"Because I am not my brother," Sandor said flatly. "Instead I risk my life to bring her back here and stop you from losing your head knowing that I could lose mine instead."

"Why should we trust you?" Robb asked cautiously. "Your allegiance is well known throughout the land."

"I don't give a shit if you trust me," Sandor shrugged. "If you want to die, then by all means, go ahead and ignore me. I'm sure your honor," he spat, "dictates you go through with at least one planned wedding."

"You are the Lannister's dog," Catelyn bit out.

"Even dogs get tired of being kicked," Sandor quipped harshly. Again he moved toward her. Her face flew to the side so she wouldn't look at him. "For the gods' sake even your fancy daughter can look me in the eye," he barked.

"Don't speak of her!"

"Oh, I can speak," he grinned viciously. "I saved her life after all. That's right: I did what you and a thousand troops couldn't do and what your son wouldn't. Ask her, should you live past this night. Ask her who tried to stop the beatings and rescued her from the riots in the streets."

"Beatings?" Robb breathed.

"Aye," Sandor said with a hint of bitterness. "Every time you won a battle, it was your sister that paid the price. Joffrey had her stripped in front of the court and humiliated while she wept for mercy. Think of that the next time you decide your crown is worth more than family."

"What would you know of family, Clegane?" Robb tested.

"At least I came to terms with the monster Gregor is; Sansa still prays you rescue her from her torment. What does she get for answers? A forced marriage to a dwarf!"

Bewilderment crossed each of their faces at his statement.

"Sansa is…married?" Catelyn stuttered. "To whom?"

Sandor rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Tyrion Lannister."

The Starks gasped in unison and Catelyn's sobs renewed themselves. Talisa tried to comfort her but it was of no use. "You torment me," she said quietly.

"No," Sandor said roughly. His stare lingered over to the young boy who had been crowned king. "You torment yourselves. I have only told you the consequences of the actions you," he pointed at Robb, "have brought on your family."

"I am a king."

"So is Joffrey. You think because you have some shred of honor that makes you better than him but all it really does is make you dangerous because you can't even see how fucked up your decisions have been in order to land you in this situation. It is only because I feel sorry for your sister that I'm here talking to you. I could have killed you already if I wanted to."

"The Freys would have seen you hanged," Robb said stiffly, his voice not quite as commanding as he would have hoped.

"Would they?" Sandor replied in an oddly light tone. He unsheathed his sword. "Care to put your belief to the test?"

When Robb didn't make a move, Catelyn grasped his arm desperately. "Robb! You cannot possibly believe him! He is the Lannisters' man!"

"I am my own man!" Sandor bellowed. Well, he more or less belonged to Sansa but that was not a point to be talked about at the moment. "Just because I didn't come from a highborn's cunt does not make my statements untrue. After all, Joffrey came from royalty and look how he turned out; or the wolf bitch who would rather roll around in the mud and be with outlaws than nobles."

"What about Sansa?" Arya threw in. "Who is she with?"

"Margaery Tyrell has taken Cersei's attention away from her…for now."

"And the beatings?" Robb asked tightly.

"What do you care?" Sandor snorted. "You'd leave her there to rot if it meant you get to hold on to that worthless title."

"Enough!" Robb thundered. "Just answer the bloody question or so help me I will burn the other side of your face."

A look of approval crossed Sandor's ruined features for a brief moment. "Now that's how a king talks." He grabbed the wine goblet from next to where Catelyn Stark was standing and held a grin at the way she squirmed ever so slightly at his close proximity. "The Tyrells have been kind to Sansa-"

"Lady Stark," Catelyn interjected.

"Sansa," he said emphatically. "Since they've come, Joffrey has stopped his attentions towards her too. Now, she is merely disdained by all but a few who have come together to make her life easier in whichever way they can." Like almost fucking her.

Something in his thoughts must have revealed themselves because Robb was giving him a reproachful look.

"Does she know you've come?" Arya asked from the corner.

Sandor shook his head. "If she had, she would have found a way to come too."

"Sansa?" Arya choked. "I don't believe you."

"Makes no matter to me," he shrugged.

"Is she well then?" Catelyn inquired.

"Better now that Margaery has taken a liking to her; we'll see how long that lasts."

"You don't trust the Tyrells?" Robb asked.

"I don't trust anyone. But they seem to genuinely care about her well-being and Margaery has given me no indication of deceit; then again, she was trained for this so who knows."

"Why would the Freys agree to something like this?" Robb said with a shake of his head.

"Why do you think?" Sandor sighed heavily. "He wanted his daughter to be queen. Families with that kind of ambition will do anything to make it happen, which is why Margaery will be queen and Sansa will not. Though, in the long run, it's for the best."

"Why is that?"

Sandor's throat muscles contracted as the sweet liquid slipped down into his stomach. "Because Margaery knows how to play the game. Sansa doesn't. It's as simple as that."

"My poor, sweet Sansa," Catelyn lamented.

Sandor repressed a groan. If only Catelyn knew just how un-sweet her little girl had grown to be, she would have him thrown out and beheaded. An image of the blossomed woman on top of him came unbidden. "I hardly call being the heir to Winterfell 'poor'," Sandor remarked off-handedly.

Four heads snapped to attention at that.

"What do you mean?" Robb asked, incensed. "Winterfell belongs to me."

"Not if you go through with this wedding. It's why they married Sansa to the Imp – so that when your family is slaughtered here, they would rule the North through Sansa's claim. I thought Starks were supposed to be clever. Did none of you figure this out before?"

"Oh gods," Catelyn breathed hard.

"The only thing keeping them from marrying her off was the kingslayer," Robb said through gritted teeth. His eyes turned black with rage toward his mother. "And you let him go."

"I wanted my daughters back!" she defended hotly.

"We would have gotten them back eventually!"

"When, Robb?" she contested with a fierce tone. "After they had beaten Sansa within an inch of her life and done gods know what else? After Arya had turned up dead from the chaos of the streets? After we buried Bran and Rickon properly? When!"

Robb's mouth closed in on itself as he tried to contain his rage. "They wouldn't have touched Sansa as long as we had Jaime. Now we have nothing!"

"You have me," Arya's small voice broke in.

Sandor caught her eye and saw how damaged and vulnerable the girl truly was in that moment. Her family had been so busy bickering about what they didn't have that they never bothered to see what had been returned.

He saw her brother's face contort into pain and Catelyn reached for her daughter. But it was too late for such comforts. Sandor knew a killer when he saw one and she was no little girl anymore. Try as her mother might, neither of her daughters would be the same after this war was done. Both had their eyes open in different ways and were surviving the best they could. Arya reminded him of himself at her age: angry and wanting the world to pay for the crimes done to them by others. If it hadn't been for his little bird, he would still be that way. As much as he wanted to help Arya he knew from experience that only time and revenge could sate her desire. Hells, he still had it in for his own brother and always would until Gregor was six feet under and rotting. Nothing would stop the Stark girl from achieving her goal – not even her mother. It was foolish of Cat to think of her children as the same ones that left Winterfell more than a year ago. Sansa had seen her own father beheaded for the gods' sake. That kind of thing changes a person.

So far, he thought Arya was handling her hatred quite well. She hadn't tried to kill him too often so she was at least somewhat smart in that area. Maybe he could bring her back to King's Landing and let her slice the Lannister family from stem to stern. He'd even volunteer to hold them down. Sansa wouldn't want Tyrion harmed though, which would pose a problem. Admittedly, he had been the only one on the little bird's side when no one else was.

"I didn't mean it like that, Arya."

The Young Wolf's voice brought Sandor out of his thoughts. He shifted from one foot to the other as Arya let out a condescending snort. A small smirk crossed his lips before he let a look of indifference cover his marred face.

"I was there too, you know," she fired back. "I saw Joffrey order father's head and I saw Sansa standing next to him, smiling as though she had been crowned queen. I tried to get to Father but Yoren stopped me." Her eyes went to the Hound. "I would have killed him if I had gotten the chance."

"Who is Yoren?" Catelyn asked.

"He was from the Night's Watch. He was supposed to bring me home, back to Winterfell but he's dead now. He died defending us – me and Gendry – from the Mountain." Her eyes glazed over as the memory came back. "He just cut him down like butter and we were caught anyway. He died for nothing, just like father."

"Oh, Arya," Catelyn gasped slightly.

Robb Stark's jaw was slack in disbelief at his sister's story. "Who is Gendry?"

"Robert Baratheon's bastard," Sandor interrupted.

"How do you know that?" Robb asked, quite viciously.

"Because I live in the Keep," Sandor shrugged. "I followed Ned when he went to the smithy and questioned the boy; Jon Arryn had done the same. Afterward, I learned that Varys had sent the boy to Yoren when Joffrey issued the decree that all of the king's bastards were to be killed. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together. Didn't know he'd pick you up too," he added to Arya.

"That's why the goldcloaks wanted him," the girl finished. When Sandor nodded, Arya's eyebrow creased. "He doesn't know who he is."

"I'd venture not. His mother was a common tavern wench. But the boy has the Baratheon look though. One look and it's clear who his father was."

"What a little monster," Talisa blurted.

She could meet his eye without flinching, Sandor noted. That meant she had experience with gruesome wounds. "Aye. That's only the beginning. The little bird has a few permanent marks on her legs." He moved his hostile gaze to the brother. "Sorry if that lessens her worth to your cause," he said, voice dripping with acid.

Robb looked much too young to be called king in that moment. His pride quickly took over as his jaw clenched. "Do not presume to know my feelings, Hound. I want my sister safe. I don't care about her legs and neither should you."

His emphasis on the last part told Sandor that his mask of indifference must have slipped too far. A sour reply was on his tongue but he thought better of it. This was not going to help him save the family. Instead he clenched his jaw tightly and said, "One day I saw your father talking to Cersei in the garden and she said something that made her sound smart for once."

"And that was?" he prompted.

"When you play the game of the thrones, you either win or you die. There is no middle ground." He hardened his gaze down on the young king. "You have two roads to travel down tonight: either listen to me and win, or you will die."

"I need to think on this," Robb said with a tight expression. "Leave me."

Sandor rolled his eyes and left the room, taking the air with him. To him, it was obvious; then again, he didn't have a sense of entitlement that comes from being born into royalty rather than earning it. He thought back to when Sansa had first arrived at King's Landing: she had the same attitude. Poor people were poor, servants were servants, and dogs were dogs. Being hideous was okay as long as you were of noble birth and being beautiful was a curse if you weren't. That was something the Starks had found out the hard way. Had his wife been born to a major noble house, Robb wouldn't have had to repair damage done to the Freys.

It was a fucked up world, that much he knew. His mind had become scrambled since meeting the little bird and it was beginning to frustrate him. Life was much simpler before her. His eyes closed and he leaned against the wall. He could smell her skin as she wrapped her arms around his neck; her vibrant hair swirling in the wind, Tully eyes seeing everything in wonder. Her perfect lips caressed his lightly and she smiled at his hands wrapping around her waist. If he listened closely, he could hear her singing. Her voice deepened and his brow furrowed in response. He was pretty sure she didn't sound like a court jester.

"What the fuck?" he growled. He leaned over slightly and looked out the window into the gray world known as the Twins. Below, a fat man was screeching out some bawdy tune – The Bear and the Maiden Fair, he thought – and chugging ale wildly as though he couldn't contain himself. "Idiot," Sandor snorted.

"Who?" Arya asked. She came to stand next to him but was too short to see out.

"One of the Frey men." Without turning back he added, "What'd your family say?"

"I don't know. Robb kicked me out. He said I didn't know what I was saying; that I was being hysterical."

Sandor gave her an amused look before glancing back out the window. The light breeze blew on his face and through the hall. He inhaled the fresh air and let out a sharp exhale. "Your brother won't listen."

"He's being stupid," she spat. "His wife told him that to not show up would hurt the Freys' feelings."

"The Freys have no feelings except pride."

"I tried to tell him you helped Sansa. Mother didn't care though. She thinks you're only here for a reward." When he didn't answer, she hesitated before asking, "Are you?"

"No," he said roughly.

"Then why are you here? Why bring me back to my family when you could have easily taken me back to Joffrey?"

"So many questions," he groaned in irritation. "You Starks just never shut up."

Arya pursed her lips and regarded him cautiously. "I believe you."

He turned to face her. "What?"

"I don't like you; in fact, I hate you and one day you will pay for what you did to Mycah. But I believe you want to save us – for whatever reason."

"That's great, wolf-bitch but it means shit if your brother doesn't."

"He will. I'll make sure of it."

"Will you now?" he sneered. Stark features glared back at him. "How will you manage that?"

"By being his sister."

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Sandor mulled over Arya's words while he sat in his jail cell. The Young Wolf had listened to his mother and Arya had grossly overestimated her influence. His words had fallen on deaf ears, courtesy of Catelyn Stark if Sandor had to guess.

"Bloody idiot," he spat bitterly when Robb had him arrested.

The cell door had slammed shut and he watched Arya smirking with a hint of satisfaction in her eye. He could have killed them all if he really wanted to. But then he would have to face Sansa every day knowing that he took away the only thing she truly wanted. He refused to cause her any more pain. But oh how he longed to knock the Northern king right off that pedestal he had made for himself.

Now, hay itched against his clothes as the wedding of Edmure Tully began. Despite what people may have thought of the Freys, they weren't complete idiots: their iron prisons were as steady as the Black Cells of King's Landing. He had been beating at the door for close to three hours and the only response was a quiet groan that had come from his body ramming into it. Then he heard the pleasant sound of violins and cellos coming from above and down the hall.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped. His feet carried him urgently into the door again. He knew any minute now that something was going to happen and he needed to stop it. Slowly, he backed away and rammed his foot into the door. Over and over again he smashed his foot along the weak spots but it wouldn't budge. "What the hells did they put in this door?" he breathed, his lungs squeezing out air painfully.

"Maybe they just don't like you," Arya said from the shadows.

"What the fuck, girl? Get me out."

"One question. And you better not lie."

His gray eyes grew dark. "What?"

"Why did you kill Mycah?"

His shoulders fell at the question. "Am I never to escape that fucking boy?" he cursed.

"Answer me," she commanded.

It was one of the few times she had seemed vulnerable. He took a deep breath and replied, "It was my job."

She took an angry step forward. "You could have said no!"

"And lose my head in the process?" he snorted.

"Better yours than his."

"Say that when you see your sister's scars," he smirked. "Had it been my head, Sansa would be dead by now."

"You're lying."

The accusation had him banging at the door and itching to wrap his hands around her throat. "Don't blame me for the truth just because you don't like it," he seethed.

"Why couldn't you just let him go?" she begged, the plea hidden underneath a steel tone.

"I didn't want to," he answered truthfully, though not without some kindness. "Besides, you've met Joffrey; does he seem like the type to let things go without proof?"

"You could have let him go!" she cried hatefully.

"What does it matter now?" he barked urgently. "The boy is dead and if you don't let me out, your brother won't have the mercy of a quick death like your butcher's boy. They'll make him watch as they cut his wife's belly open and run a sword through your mother."

Before she could answer, Arya saw him hold up a finger. "What?" she asked impatiently.

Sandor's stomach dropped at the change in tune above them. "Let me out," he said in a dangerously low voice.

"Why?"

"Listen." He watched as the sound echoed through the bare tunnel and went straight into her bones. "You know what that is? I'll give you a hint: the family it's named after paid a heavy price for their arrogance. Don't make the same mistake." When she didn't move, he cursed and smacked the door with his hand so hard that it made his palm tingle. "Open the fucking door!"

Arya ran back up the stony steps as the Hound's voice thundered behind her, licking at her heels. She glanced around and noticed what she was looking for. Swift as a cat, she grabbed the keys and fled back to the cell. Her hands that were once shaking out of anger had begun to steady as the rush of excitement filled every nerve in her body. It was bizarre how situations like this made her feel in control.

A hard jerk had the heavy jail door opening and Sandor rushing out, sword at the ready. They could hear tables being overturned and screaming as they wound back into the main hall. Sandor skidded to a halt as a Frey saw them.

"Clegane!" he shouted. "Come on, you're late! The party's already begun!" He gave a sickening laugh and bounded down the hallway toward them, his axe slicing the air from the movement.

Before the man realized what happened, Sandor slid his sword through his ribs. As he fell, blood stained Sandor's hand. After grabbing the axe, he pushed the soldier off him in disgust and led Arya down the empty corridor, passing the massacre.

"What are you doing?" Arya screeched. She pulled with all her strength on the door that led to the hall but it wouldn't budge. "Help me! You said you'd help me!"

Sandor knocked her hand out of the way and dragged her along. "I can't help them anymore! They were dead the moment those doors closed."

"But you're the Hound!"

"I'm not a fucking ghost, girl! I can't take them all!" It chafed him to the core to admit that, but there were bigger problems happening than his ego. He had to save at least one Stark.

"NO!" she cried, tears running staining her cheeks. "No, take me back! Take me back!"

He picked her up by the waist but she kicked her way out, forcing him to catch her before she got to the door. He fell against her and the two stumbled down just as they heard Catelyn's voice beg Walder Frey to let Robb go. Though she struggled, he held a firm hand over her mouth. He could feel the water from her tears rolling down his glove and onto his skin. He knew there was no chance the Freys were letting any Starks walk out. He heard Lord Bolton's voice tell someone the Lannisters sent their regards before a scream curdled his blood. Arya dug her fingers into his skin before letting out her own cry. He tried to pick her up from the floor but she kicked his shin and tried again to get to the door. The flat part of the axe's blade was the only thing she felt as darkness consumed her. Sandor tore his own cloak and wrapped her in it.

He discovered that though it had quieted down inside, outside was a different story. Stark bannermen were still fighting a losing battle and Sandor used the distractions to slip by. A Stark man ran past him, a Frey not far behind. Heaving the axe with his strength, it hit the Frey directly in the chest. Sandor watched the body fly in the air before landing with a hard thud on the blood stained ground. He dragged Arya over his shoulder and went to find Stranger.

Arya's face stirred against Sandor's chest as she woke up. He kept her tightly between his arms while the fires waged around them. The Freys had been victorious and were making an obnoxious show of it, burning the Stark flags and singing 'Rains of Castamere' obnoxiously.

Time seemed to stop as the pair watched a group of men parading a chair around. He felt Arya stiffen as it became clear that the body on the chair was her brother… with a new head made out of his direwolf. Sandor felt his face twist into disbelief at the sight. Flames jumped out and tried to reach them but the two were just out of the way. The heat felt angry against their skin as mocking cries of "King in the North" rose like a cacophony.

Sandor had never seen anything like it. For the first time since he left King's Landing, he was relieved that Sansa wasn't with him. If it was making him sick, then it was far too fucked up for the little bird to see. The smell of burning flesh filtered into his nose and with a hard jerk, pulled Stranger away from the pandemonium and flew out the gate. He ran Stranger as hard as he could, hoping the speed and distance would make him forget the sight.

xxxxxxxxx

When they finally stopped, Arya ungracefully jumped from the horse and ran into the forest. Her breath was stuck in her lungs but her feet couldn't stay still. Twigs and leaves whipped at her face, stinging her skin and in retaliation, she ground her heels into the soil in an effort to put the images out of her head. It wasn't until she tripped that a harsh bellow found its way out with her fingers digging into the soft ground. A stone scraped against her fingers and suddenly her grief was replaced with cold, unadulterated fury. She grasped the rock and hurled into the nearest tree, sending the bark flying in every direction. Glancing around she picked up another and then another until her arms gave out from the effort of keeping up the pace.

Sandor watched from a distance at first, making sure she hadn't stumbled into a wandering Frey or some trap. When he saw her throw the first rock, he figured it was time to leave. Quietly, he walked back to where Stranger was eating the bright green grass. He could hear the racket Arya was making and winced, hoping that someone passing wouldn't go searching for the source. But the girl was so angry he pitied anyone that dare go near her. Stranger nudged him for food.

"Sorry," he said roughly. "I got nothing."

He could lay traps out but the truth was that he had lost his appetite, at least for now. Stranger could eat the grass but eventually they would need meat to sustain them. Sandor paused at that thought: they. What was he going to do now? Picking up Arya Stark had never been a part of his original chain of events. He couldn't leave her; she was alone now. Though she thought she could survive on her own, he knew she wouldn't make it. She had grown up where everything was handed to her if she failed to do something. The woods and its inhabitants were not so giving as a castle full of servants. Granted, Arya had a much higher probability of surviving than her siblings but this was a foreign place to her. The Stark name no longer held the same meaning in Westeros as it once did. But he refused to leave Sansa in the den of lions.

He was fucked.

But nothing was going to be solved standing around. So he unhooked his bedroll and picked out a place to sleep. He gathered some kindling and logs before starting a fire and stirred the embers as the night turned cold. Quiet footfalls alerted him that Arya had returned. She sat on the opposite side of the fire, glaring into the flames as though she could turn back time if she looked hard enough.

Arya glanced up at the man across from her and frowned. "It isn't fair. Why do people like Joffrey get to live and my brother die?"

Sandor didn't have an answer so he kept his mouth shut.

"I want to kill him," she continued. His gray eyes met her brown ones but they revealed nothing going on in his head. "I'm going to kill him."

"How?"

She pulled out the tiny sword from behind her back. "This."

A rough snort came from Sandor. "You going to take on the whole of King's Landing with that?"

"I just need to get close enough," she said in a dreamy voice. "Just close enough."

"You won't get near Joffrey with that."

Her eyes seemed to clear at that. "Why not?"

"You're as stupid as the rest of your family," he said with a shake of his head. "You wouldn't get past Flea Bottom. The realm isn't just looking for Gendry, they're looking for you. Littlefinger and Varys' lackeys would know you and have no problem turning you in. Since they only need Sansa to produce heirs, you would be expendable. No, wolf-bitch. You wouldn't get close enough to Joff's shit much less him."

"You can."

Sandor snapped his head up and glared. "No."

"Why?" she dared.

"He'd take it out on your sister. And I won't let that happen. She's already paid a heavy price for her sins." And mine.

Something in his voice made Arya look at him differently. "Why do you care what happens to Sansa?"

"Get some sleep if you can," was the only reply she got, though it lacked the ferocity Sandor usually gave. "We'll figure out what to do tomorrow."